


She's got both hands in her pocket and she won't look at you

by darkersky



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 02:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkersky/pseuds/darkersky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's driving too fast, and you know by the screeching of the tires on the driveway that there must be that one particular expression on her face. The one she gets when she feels overwhelmed by whatever it is this time. Responsibility. Love. Paperwork.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's got both hands in her pocket and she won't look at you

***

  

It's been quiet for so long that that makes the end of the world all the more impressive. All the more shockingly unexpected.

You go to the backyard, look at the tulips you are growing, frown because they don't seem to like the soil that's supposed to nourish them, and suddenly you hear it.

She's driving too fast, and you know by the screeching of the tires on the driveway that there must be that one particular expression on her face. The one she gets when she feels overwhelmed by whatever it is this time. Responsibility. Love. Paperwork.

(The fact that she sometimes drives like that is the reason you almost never let her borrow your car.)

You hear the car door slamming and you can imagine how she strides through the house, looking for you in the obvious places. Kitchen, study, bedroom. (Her boots leaving dirt on the floor in the foyer.)

It takes a while for her to come to the logical conclusion, but then she's there, standing in front of you under a cherry tree, panting slightly, and she looks panicked.

"What is it?" you ask, slightly impatiently, because you know it always takes a while for her to gain enough coherence to communicate verbally when she's in an emotional state like that.

"Neal," she breathes out. "He's alive. He's back. How can he be back?"

 

***

 

You don't have many things these days. You have your house. You have your garden. You have your son.

You don't have your work anymore. Instead, you have your former arch enemy occasionally making frantic phone calls to you, needing assistance with balancing the budget or hiring a new fire chief, and even though you are close to thinking murderous thoughts, that's your son's grandmother, her mother (and something about the frenzy in that voice reminds you of this simple yet unfortunate fact), so you pinch the bridge of your nose, close your eyes, and try to be patient.

Sometimes it almost feels like you have her. But you are not certain she can really be had. You both know a lot about being imprisoned. You would never do that to her.

You don't have many things these days, but still it feels like you have more than you used to have. More than you had when you ruled a kingdom.

 

***

 

Her hands are still shaking when she's clutching the tumbler of whiskey you have handed her. (She always seems to handle these emotional states better with a glass in hand. You know it should probably worry you, but it doesn't because she doesn't drink that much or that often these days. It's just something that's familiar from her past. Children have security blankets. You used to have Daniel's ring. She has the feeling of having a cool glass object in her hand, comfortably heavy. It makes her less fidgety.)

"Why are you here and not somewhere welcoming him back?" you ask because that's something you are really wondering.

"I can't... I don't know what to say to him." Her eyes are wide and green and full of conflicted emotions. "Before he fell into that portal, I told him I loved him."

There's a sinking feeling in your chest, but you manage to keep you voice neutral and steady when you ask, "Do you? Love him?"

"I... I don't know. He was dying and I've never had someone close to me die and what the hell are you supposed to say in a situation like that..."

You consider saying something along the lines of _well,_ _lucky_ _you_ , but you know that that doesn't mean that she has been lucky enough to avoid dealing with loss. It's just that she has never had anyone who would have been considered close to her in that sense.

But you also know that she doesn't use the word 'love' easily. She says it to your son occasionally and it looks almost effortless, but she almost never says it to you. Not unless her senses and mind are, well, otherwise occupied. And even then you wonder if it's really you, or the way you know how to touch her, that she loves.

  

***

  

You wonder how it would be if, by some miracle, Daniel came back now. Not the monstrous version of him, but the real Daniel.

Who would you choose?

But you know you were a different person back then. You were young and innocent. You weren't unhurt, but there was no darkness in you. Daniel was the same, and you two loved each other innocently.

You had faith back then. You really thought you could escape.

But now... If Daniel came back, he would still be innocent. You, on the other hand, would be a different person, and the innocence in him would be afraid of the darkness in you. He would probably think you are like your mother. The one who killed him. He would never love this you.

She has never really feared you. She is beautiful, and full of life, and she has saved you in so many senses of the word, and she has never really feared you.

 

***

 

"How are we supposed to tell Henry?" she asks.

You are almost asleep, so you simply say, "That's for you to figure out."

 

***

 

She doesn't own many things. One late night her things were in the foyer of your house.

"I think I'm too old to be living with my parents," she said.

"I suppose this house is big enough for the three of us," you said calmly because she had already spent so many nights in your house that you had grown accustomed to the intrusion. (At first she had sneaked out in the small hours, but when your son had pointed out that he was not stupid, she had started staying for breakfast.)

"This is so cool!" your son said in the morning when he found out, overjoyed at the prospect of not having to split his time between two homes anymore.

  

***

 

Her father comes by your house the following morning.

You are not sure if you have been surprised that he's been the one of the two idiots who has taken less issue with your relationship with their daughter. Of course he has threatened you with bodily harm if you do anything to hurt her, but on some level he seems to understand that you are with him on that. You, too, would bodily harm anyone who hurt her.

"Is Emma here?" he asks. You notice how he says 'here' instead of 'home' because the fact that she is actually living in the same house as you is still something he hasn't quite managed to wrap his head around. (And in a way you are happy about it, because you are definitely not ready to have him or his wife as dinner guests in your house. It's one thing to give up on destroying their happiness, and a whole another thing to sit at the same table with them as they eye the apple dessert with barely concealed suspicion while at the same time attempting to look supportive of their daughter's lamentable life choices.)

"No, she's out fighting crime," you say (and you realize that you are using the expression your son likes to use when talking about her work).

"Did you hear already? About Neal being back?" he asks and it seems like he is in fact here to talk to you and not to his daughter.

"Yes, Emma told me," you say.

"I don't know what to think," he says, scratching the back of his head.

"How did that even happen?" you ask.

"Apparently Rumple has been working on that for a while. He finally managed to open a portal. I don't know how," he says. 

"So that's why he has been hiding in his shop so much," you say.

"I guess so," he says.

"I suppose that means happy family reunion time for all of you then," you say and you can't keep the bitterness from your voice.

"I'm not so sure... You and I both know what he did to her. I'm not sure I want him around," he says.

And you do know. She told you. It took a lot of fidgeting, but she told you. Apparently she also told her parents at some point.

"Well, she is capable of forgiving a lot," you say because this is something you know from personal experience.

"Yes, I know," he says and he seems pensive.

"She told him she loved him," you say even though you are usually not someone who talks about these things. But you are desperate and you do trust him even if it makes no sense after everything. 

"Really? That's strange. Snow could always see the two of them getting back together but I guess I never saw it that way," he says.

"Well, Emma is rather unpredictable when it comes to these things," you say wryly.

He chuckles and says, "That's right."

You are both awkwardly quiet for a while. Then he says, "Hey, I was thinking of taking Henry to the stables tomorrow. Do you... Would you like to come, too?"

You are stunned at the suggestion. "I... I think he likes spending alone time with his grandfather. Maybe some other time."

"Okay. Well, see you around," he says. He smiles at you like one smiles at someone one doesn't hate.

  

***

  

Somehow, day by day, it has become increasingly clear that you are living in 21st century United States of America instead of just a town full of exiled fairytale characters. You are not sure what you are supposed to make of that.

These days your son has an iPad and he blushes every time someone mentions Malia Obama or Selena Gomez. You are no longer allowed to enter his room without knocking.

She introduces your son to music that's ridiculously loud, and the lyrics are not quite appropriate for his age, but he seems to like it. You roll your eyes and call them peasants, and they flash identical grins at you and tell you to shut up.

Your son has opinions about environmental issues and sometimes his new teacher (the previous one having become the Mayor) calls you to say that while, yes, it is good that he is so passionate about learning new things, he should really learn to control his rants about US foreign policy.

He is excited about some new TV show on ABC Family about two women raising a bunch of kids together.

  

***

 

Perhaps you are a masochist but you agree to go with her to meet your son's father at Granny's at noon, before you are telling your son that he's back. She greets him awkwardly, dodging a kiss on the cheek, and then she says something vague about going to the bathroom and leaves you two alone.

"I don't think we were ever properly introduced," he says. His voice is uncertain, mumbly, and there's something twitchy in his eyes. The worst thing is that there's something familiar about that face. Something you have seen staring at you from across the dinner table for a little over twelve years. Something you love more than anything. Seeing flickers of those features on someone you can't help resenting is unsettling.

"No, we weren't," you say because you are still a little bitter about the fact that she never bothered to tell you about your son's father when he first came to town. But you do remember your own mental state at the time so, on some level, you do understand her reasoning.

When you, tersely, shake the hand he offers, you think of what you would have done before.

But you don't want to be that person anymore. You made a promise to your son after you rescued him from Neverland. She made the same promise.

No more magic. Definitely no more murdering anyone.

"So, you raised Henry for ten years," he says, and something about the way he says _raised_ rubs you the wrong way.

"Yes, I'm his mother," you say, because you feel like you need to make that absolutely clear.

"Right, his other mother. That's what I meant," he says and you wonder if, just this once, your son would forgive you for casting one last lethal curse. But that's your son's father and you know he wouldn't even if it was someone else.

She probably wouldn't forgive you either. And not just because that's someone she used to love and maybe still does.

"How long are you staying in town?" you ask instead of killing him.

"Geez, I don't know. It's day number two of being back. I might stick around for a while... My father put a lot of effort into opening that portal so I guess I could try to work on my daddy issues..." His sentences don't have proper endings. They trail off like he's always uncertain of everything coming out of his mouth.

You have no patience for uncertainty. "Just make sure my son doesn't end up with issues of his own," you say. You hear the threat in your voice and hope that he hears it, too.

"Yeah, of course. He's a cool kid and he's had enough messed up crap happen to him."

You wonder how every sentence coming out of his mouth can make you resent him more.

At some point she comes back from the bathroom and you put your hand on her arm in a way that's bordering on being possessive. She looks at you with eyes that say _what the hell_ but you don't care. 

"Riiight. My father told me about the two of you... I won't lie and say I saw that coming," he says.

"You are not the only one," she says, rolling her eyes.

 

***

  

You are not even sure how it happened. You are quite positive that you two were never meant to be. You just couldn't help... being.

On the way to Neverland you taught her magic, and one day she kissed you, as if by accident, and you thought it was a reaction to the stressful situation. When you got your son back, you both hugged him, neither of you pushing the other away. You had loved her for a while already, but you knew it was not likely she felt the same way.

You are almost certain that what happened was a glitch in the design of the universe you inhabit. You have kept waiting for the universe to course correct. You have known the end of the world would have to come some day.

 

***

 

"Are you jealous? Honestly?" she asks you on the way back home.

"Why would you think I'm jealous?" you ask.

"Well, hello, possessive much?" she says, staring at the street ahead.

"He's annoying," you say.

"I know," she says. "I know him pretty well."

"You told him you loved him," you say.

"Yeah, I know. But there's love and then there's... love," she says, as if that's supposed to make any kind of sense.

"I suppose there's nothing I could do if you decided to get back together with him," you say. 

"Are you serious?" she asks.

"Yes," you say.

"Is that what would happen if... Daniel came back?" she asks.

"That wouldn't be a fair comparison," you say.

"Right," she says, looking hurt.

 

***

  

Sometimes you do indeed wonder how it would be if Daniel ever came back.

You know it wouldn't be a fair comparison. It wouldn't be a fair comparison because she has never really feared you.

You cherish the memory of loving him, but he would never love you like this. And you are not sure if you would be capable of anything that pure anymore anyway.

It wouldn't be a fair comparison because she's the one who makes your heart race these days. She's the one whose kisses make you feel weak.

  

***

 

"Henry, there's something you need to know," she says when your son comes home from school.

"Like the fact that my dad is alive?" he says. He looks angry. He used to look like that a lot before Neverland.

"H- how do you know that?" she asks.

"He came to see me at school this afternoon," he says.

"That son of a..." she starts, but you put a hand over her mouth before she can finish the sentiment even if it's one you share. 

"You should've told me right away," he says. Then he's off, running upstairs, and you hear a door slam with such force that it's a wonder there are no broken windows in the house.

Soon after, you can hear loud, angry music from his room.

 

***

  

The first time she appeared at your doorstep after Neverland, she was drunk and she couldn't get a word out so she left. You watched her leave and your heart ached.

The second time wasn't much better, but she was sober, and she said, "I don't know why I'm here."

"Well, do you want to come in?" you asked.

"I... I don't know," she said.

"Very well," you said.

Then she left and you allowed yourself a moment of wondering if there was the slightest chance she also felt something for you.

The third time she didn't say anything, but she was just the slightest bit intoxicated, and she kissed you. You pulled her closer by the lapels of her jacket.

  

***

 

You keep your back turned to her even though she keeps twisting and turning under the covers.

She whispers your name in the darkness, but you pretend you are asleep because you are afraid of the words that might come out of her mouth.

 

***

 

On the way to Neverland you saw her silhouette against the dark sky. She looked uncharacteristically vulnerable.

"I think I need to learn to control my magic," she said.

You didn't know it then, but the first magic lesson became something that has defined many aspects of your relationship with her later on.

You used a spell that bound her to the floor by her ankles and wrists and you saw something in her eyes you had never seen before. Just the smallest hint of absolute fear. It was a disturbing sight. "You don't like being trapped, do you?" you said aloud without meaning to.

There was a flash of something in her eyes and suddenly it was you who was bound to the wall and her breath was warm on your face. You knew your eyes must have told a whole story of shared experiences, because she looked at you and said, "You don't like it either."

Then she freed you.

 

***

 

The door of the pawn shop almost becomes unhinged when you stalk in the following morning.

"Your Majesty." Your son's other, decidedly more evil, grandfather nods at you.

You try to control your anger because there's nothing the imp loves more than seeing you frustrated.

"What were you thinking?" you ask.

"Oh, what was I thinking? I was thinking of getting my son back. I'm sure you know how wonderful that feels," he says.

"Well, now you have him back. Go be with him somewhere that's not Storybrooke," you say.

"Oh, no, no, dearie. This town has grown on me. I'm no longer planning any trips," he says.

"Why did you really bring him back?" you ask because you are not buying his new family man charade.

"What is it you really want to know?" he asks.

"Did you want to destroy my..." You have no idea how to finish the question.

"Your beautiful modern family? Your perfect New England happy ending?" he asks, smiling a small irritating smile.

You don't say anything, you just look at him in a way that implies that you are in no mood for jokes.

"Why would I do that? I've always considered myself a fan of true love," he says.

"You have also always been a fan of convoluted scheming," you say, because, no matter how much you want to trust his words, you can't.

"Remember that one time when there was a fire at town hall that, well, I started?" he asks.

"Yes. I remember it as a particularly pathetic attempt at ending my life," you say.

"Oh no, killing you in a fire? Rather brutish, don't you think? No, the purpose of the fire was to give Miss Swan a nudge in the right direction," he says.

"What are you saying, Rumple?" you ask.

"You keep forgetting that I can see the future. I always knew that, ultimately, it was her destiny to save you. Which she has been doing pret-ty consistently ever since. If you have other relationship woes, go talk to Dr. Hopper, because my work here is done."

You are skeptical. There's always more with the imp. But you know you are not getting anything else out of him today so you leave.

 

***

  

You are not sure if the absurd notion that all of this may have been predestined is better than the thought that it has been a temporary twist in the grand scheme of things.

Certainly there would have been easier ways of achieving your happy ending? Easier people to end up sharing a life with? 

You remember the first eighteen years of your new life in Storybrooke. You remember the dullness. You felt betrayed by the dullness.

You remember holding your son for the first time. He was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. But there was always something uncontrollable about him. He refused to be just another pawn in your game and that wasn't something you wanted either, but you didn't know how to express that to him without telling him the truth. You weren't very good at love.

Then she came to town and everything fell apart.

  

***

 

"Henry's still angry," she says after an exceptionally tense dinner that evening.

"I know," you say, sighing. 

"Aren't you going to do something?" she asks.

"What am I supposed to do?" you ask.

"I don't know! Help me talk to him or something!" She is absolutely livid. That's also something you used to see a lot before Neverland.

"This is your mess," you say. It's not exactly true, but it's easier to think that it is.

"For fuck's sake, Regina, don't do this!" she says.

"What is it that I'm doing?" you ask.

"You are giving up. Why?" She sounds almost pleading and that makes you feel horrible.

"I suppose I always saw this day coming," you admit.

"What day? The day our son's asshole of a father comes back and he doesn't hear it from us so he gets mad?" she says.

You are silent, because you have no words.

"Do you want me to go or what? Is that it?" she asks and she looks almost fearful and it's still as disturbing as it was the first time you saw it in her eyes.

"Go if you want to," you say. You can't help sounding resigned.

"That's not what I asked," she says quietly.

Something about her quietness unsettles you in a way that makes you say, almost inaudibly, "No. I don't want you to go."

"Good," she says. She looks you in the eye, and she says, "Because I don't want to."

You search her eyes for a hint of uncertainty, but there's none. You are too stunned to say anything. Because when has anyone ever chosen you?

"We'll talk to Henry tomorrow, okay? Together?" she says.

You nod.

"And we really have to talk to Neal, too. He can't start messing with our lives," she says.

You nod again.

  

***

 

You remember the day she told her parents about you two.

Her mother confronted you in your garden. "Is this some sick joke, Regina?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... Is this some last desperate attempt at hurting me? By manipulating my daughter and turning her against me?" she asked, tears in her eyes.

"Oh, absolutely, because I'm _that_ evil," you said, unable to help the sarcasm from creeping into your voice.

"Oh my god, I must have underestimated what you are capable of. I seriously thought you had changed," she said.

You sighed and counted to three. "This is not a sick joke," you said. Then you looked at her in a way that you hoped was open and convincing enough.

She looked at you, startled. "It's not a joke, is it?" she said sounding astonished.

"No, it's not," you said.

"You are actually in... in..." She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Yes," you said.

She needed a moment to absorb the idea. She kept making hand gestures that made no sense and her mouth kept opening and closing. Then she managed to say, "You do realize that is awfully ironic on so many levels?" 

"Yes," you said. Because you knew exactly how ironic it was that you were hopelessly in love with the daughter of someone who had taken away your first love.

  

***

  

"There's something I never told you," she says in the darkness of your bedroom.

You wonder what it is this time. She's not really that talkative when it comes to her past. Neither of you are. There are still significant holes in the narrative even if you know the overall story. For instance, you still don't know why she has a tattoo, but you do know it's not a prison tattoo. You know that because you made a nasty joke about that once and she was furious. (You kissed the tattoo later and said, "I'm sorry." She smiled sheepishly, took your hand, and pulled you towards this very same room.)

"You know I ran into your mother in, you know, your land."

"Yes." You are uncertain as to where this is going because you still don't like thinking or talking about your mother. Her mother killed your mother. It's not a light topic of conversation and both of you avoid it as much as possible.

"Did you know she tried to take my heart?"

You have no idea what that's supposed to mean. You mother never _tried_ to take anyone's heart. She just did it. "She used to do that, yes," you say and for one horrifying second you wonder if your mother actually took her heart and if, perhaps, that's the reason she doesn't... But you know it's not true so you add, "But you still seem to have your heart intact."

"Yeah. She couldn't take it. I don't know why. Maybe it was because of my parents' love or something, but she couldn't take it."

"Are you telling me this so we can appreciate how wonderful it was that your parents managed to find each other?" you ask, because you are still feeling all kinds of uncertain and the thought of your mother attempting to do to her what she did to Daniel makes you wonder if your mother could have had some way of knowing about your feelings. You feel nauseated by the thought, because you know what happened subsequently.

"No, I'm telling you this because... Well, she couldn't take it, but I'm pretty sure you could. I mean, if you wanted to. I'm not saying you should try because, well, that would be considered magic, and we promised Henry, but yeah..."

"I could take your heart?" you ask her.

"Yes," she says, looking at you with eyes that say she is serious. This is not some joke.

You find yourself unable to say anything. There's a warmth somewhere in your chest and it seems to be spreading. You need to fight the urge to say something corny such as, _You know you already have my heart?_ Because if there's one thing you aim at not being, corny would be it.

When you can't think of anything sufficiently coherent to say you kiss her.

She has her hands on your bare skin and you lose all rational thought.

"Do you think we should invite your parents over for dinner some day?" you ask when you can talk again.

She looks at you with narrowed eyes. "Yeah, I'm not sure that would be the best idea. I mean, there's no way you love me that much."

"Maybe I do," you say, because you are quite certain you do. Why else would you even have suggested that?

"Well, in that case, right back atcha," she says, and even if she says the words lightly, they carry a lot of weight. 

"Your father is actually quite... tolerable," you say in the way one reveals a horrible, dirty secret, through gritted teeth.

"My mom's pretty cool, too, you know," she says. There is humor in her voice.

"Don't push it," you say, but you are smiling, too, because the occasional frenzy in her mother's voice reminds you of her.

 

***

 

The following day, you go to the backyard, you look at the wilting tulips, and you smile.

By some miraculous stroke of luck you have managed to avoid the end of the world.

You don't have many things these days. You have your house, you have your garden, and you have your family.

You don't have any power. You don't have magic. You don't even have your work.

But you smile at the dying tulips, because what you have is everything that's needed for your happy ending.

  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This time I'm not even apologizing for anything. Not even for the second-person narrative that just... happened. Pleasedon'thateme.


End file.
